I wake up, almost in a panic. I have a full day of classes and each one challenges me differently. I like the challenge but at the end of the semester, it’s almost too much to bear. I should be grateful, that I get to attend school, learn, and have opportunities. Just being able to attend should be enough, but I can’t get past myself. So much work and so little time. When I started it was fun, four years of floating by and having fun. Now as the end nears, the fear of the future hits me.

The idea of the future entices me, but also sends me into a tailspin of thoughts. At this point, I thought id have more figured out, and be a bit more put together. I’m still unsure of a career path and have no idea if Baltimore is my forever home. I wonder where I’ll be in ten years. My sisters both married with children and successful lives (whatever that means) seemingly have it all figured out. I’m the wild card, anything could happen and I could end up anywhere. This is exciting but something about it also makes me crave what they have, the stability and the comfort of loosely knowing what the future hold.

Sometimes I’m afraid I won’t be what I dreamed I would be. To make change, make a name for myself, and live authentically as myself. I want to create, influence, and entertain. After a few glasses of wine, it seems manageable, but as the morning sun comes into my room, reality sets. If I want to do this, I have to hustle and try. I think I get this way when things end, it could be a tv show I’m obsessing over, a semester of school, or a friendship. Endings are natural. My brain feels foggy and unclear, maybe when the semester is over, a new light will come in.

I’m overwhelmed. I want to make my younger self proud. Where do I start, and how far will I go to get it? What do I have to do to make my mark? This is all feeling very Carrie Bradshaw. This post is a mess, just like me right now, but I wanted to be real. I wish my last post was more polished and academic, but it’s not and I think that’s ok. One thing I’ve learned from this course is the validity of feelings, and how real change starts from within.

As this chapter closes, I prepare for the next. And just like that, maybe it’s the one where everything comes together.

It was an average day, nothing exceptional had occurred…yet. As I left work at around 7:30 pm I headed to the elevator to take me to my car on the 5th-floor parking lot. These elevators weren’t the most modern or even trustworthy, but 5 flights of stairs did not sound appealing to me. I hopped in while looking on my phone, I was the only one inside so didn’t even really bother looking up. I pressed my level 5 and refreshed my Instagram feed, but then the lights started to flicker. A flicker soon turned into back, and the whole elevator came to a halt. No floor sign, no lights, and pressing the buttons did nothing. For a second I count believe it, this had never happened to me. Alone in the small square, my anxiety shot up immediately.

I turned my flashlight up to try and call the emergency hotline, after a few loud beeps, and a ringing telephone, I was connected to a man in a call center. He asked what my emerges was and I told him, he asked if I needed immediate medical attention or had a disability and I responded, he asked if I needed anything before he contacted someone to come get me out, and I said “Just please hurry, I’m in here all alone and scared”. He assured me he would call me back in ten minutes. At that moment, that felt like forever.
I sat down, the elevator continued to move, shake and change floors. I imagined it would just drop and I would die like in a movie.

The service was spotty, but I called my sister who always answers. She could barely make out what I was saying, but I told her I loved her and I would call her back as soon as I was out. It sounds dramatic but I didn’t know what was going to happen. With each bump, move, and flicker I got more and more afraid. This elevator I used countless times a week, and with people, had never felt so small. It was as if all my anxiety and anguish filled the square, and there was no room for anything else. I found it hard to breathe, which was just me being crazy, the air quality was fine.

I sat there, alone, in the dark for 13 minutes. Waiting for someone to rescue me, or for a light to turn back on and I could go about my day again. Even though the space felt so filled and I was busting at the seams, I also recognized how little I was in that corner. I was helpless and had no control over anything in that space, except making sure didn’t go ballistic.

After a few bumps, I could finally hear people outside, and very quickly the lights turned on and the door opened. A few businessmen were waiting outside, getting ready to get on. I was huddled in the corner looking very disheveled. I shot up without saying anything and stormed past them. “I wouldn’t use that” was all I dared to muddle to them. I climbed a few flights and went to my car to cry and unload the fear that was inside me.

The next day, I took the stairs, and I have every day after. On the bright side, my legs are looking quite good.

Last week at a family function, my cousin had told us he had a new girlfriend. Everyone was genuinely happy for him, he’s had an interesting dating track record, and his smile that night was infectious. A few hours later our family group chat began to explode, someone had found this new girl’s Instagram, and with a few clicks located her page with almost 20k followers (impressive) and a little blue link to her Only Fans account. Within hours the excitement of a new relationship was quickly turned over into “How do we stop this relationship”. A little back story, I come from a mostly very conservative, very Christian family. I was once under the fire for coming out as gay, and thankfully things have evolved, all in time. You learn a lot about yourself and your strength when people are judging you just for who you are. 

Upon hearing this news, I didn’t think anything of it. I had never had a conversation with this girl, and who I am to judge what she does with her body. Unfortunately, most of those close-minded nitwits didn’t share my feelings. It can be so hard to love truly problematic people. His mother locked herself in her room for days, wondering what she had done so wrong that her son would be with a girl “like that”. My other cousins followed suit, and called and texted him to make sure he knew what a mistake he was making. There was a full-blown attack on this girl, to who none of us had spoken a single word. I felt like I was the only person with a working soul. 

They didn’t know her story, where’s she’s come from, or where she hopes to go. They know nothing about her. Everything they think they needed to know, was on the internet and could be subscribed to for $11.99 a month. I’ve tried my hardest to bring them into this century, to show them how this outlet does so much good for people, and remind them what she does with her body is her choice. It was interesting to me how this one minor detail threw everyone into a tailspin. If we found out she was a nurse or a journalist, I think the reaction would have been a bit different. 

She’s set to come to a party we are having this weekend, I’m very excited to meet her. She seems kind, vivacious, and confident. I can wait to hear her story, that is only her’s to tell. I also plan to do my extra best to make her feel welcome. The thing about these judgmental turds, is they eventually come around. I know this may seem cheesy, but I’ve always made sure to listen to that overdone saying, and never judge a book by its cover. 

I never was very self-conscious growing up, I knew I was chunky but really who wasn’t? I ate what I liked and didn’t think much about what people thought. Why would my waist size affect anything but the pants I buy? As time goes on you get taller, thin out a bit, but I always stayed a little hefty.
I went to a small, private, Christian school and as a gay teen, the dating options were little to none. I never had the chance to “court” or do all the normal high school things. I pretended to have crushes just to help the time pass, and keep people off my case. Once I graduated and turned 18, online dating was at its height, and I was an animal unleashed.
I started slow, with no profile pic or stats. When I got aquatinted with a guy, I’d send my picture and he would either call me “CUTE” or block me. These were men almost twice my age. I’d scroll through profiles, swiping through people in seconds. “Only fit” “No chubs” “fitforfit” were some common phrases I’d see. Everyone’s perfectly sculptured abs or tan dad bods would be on display, and for the first time, I didn’t like who I saw in the mirror. The field I was playing in was guys my age who looked like me or hot 42-year-olds who were either insane or married. But there was another field I yearned to be a part of. Muscular, proportionate, successful, super gays. Some whose bodies were their pride.
After I entered this online world, I looked in the mirror a different way. Every piece of food that was in my hand was calculated and no matter what It was, once digested, I was filled with regret. The freedom and opportunity I seemed for years, ruined the way I saw myself, and it’s a constant battle to love me, the way I am.